FRONTIER: the 14th -Rewind My Heart-
by LeDbrite
Summary: "Ten little soldiers…" Haymitch, let's play a game. I have a riddle for you to solve. If you don't, then everyone you know will be killed. Or did you really think that Effie tried to commit suicide? Salutations! Mysterious notes, a nursery rhyme that counts away life, and Effie is the first victim. In order to end this, Haymitch will have to chase the unknown. "Welcome to Area14…"
1. Prologue

A/N: Umm, this would be considered an AU of sorts, but it follows after the events in Mockingjay (actually, this chapter begins with the end of Mockingjay).

Special thanks goes to my sister, for beta reading, and listening patiently to my wild ideas.

Disclaimer: I do not own THG, nor do I claim to in any way. Nor do I own the other "elements" that appear in this story (they will be duly pointed out when they appear). I wrote this purely for the joy of writing.

A final note: At the beginning of each chapter are lyrics. It's optional, but if you listen to the song while reading the chapter, it will help enforce the feel of the chapter, but it's not necessary.

Enjoy! :D

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><p><strong> "I am toxic, I am so impure. Separated, I am quick to resist. I am all alone, infected with this. I'm immune to you, you're immune to me; we're both sick cells with the same disease." – <strong>"Same Disease" by Red

**_Prologue_**

District Thirteen, Headquarters

"There's been a sighting!"

The announcement rang through the room, carrying over the subtle sounds of frenzied activities and sending a ripple of excited murmurs through the occupants. Staying in his corner, as immobile as he'd been from the moment he'd first slouched in it, he couldn't help the chill that ran down his spine. Though it didn't surprise him that they'd finally found her, Haymitch was still human enough to have some reaction, especially since he was sober. Watching Coin and Plutarch sidelong out of the corner of his eye, he felt disgust at how eagerly they hurried forward.

'_She's going after Snow_,' he thought snidely. '_Just like I told you_.'

But it hadn't been proven, yet, that he was correct.

The question was already on his tongue, ready to pass his lips, when Plutarch beat him to it.

"Where at?" Plutarch demanded, eyes searching the hazy footage. At his side, Coin studied the screen critically, arms crossed and clearly tense.

"About a block away from the City Circle," was the answer.

"You should've listened to me," Haymitch drawled lazily, his snarky grin goading as he rubbed it in.

Turning to give him a grim look, brows lowered in dissatisfaction, Coin stated blandly, grudging each word, "Your estimation was correct."

Shaking his head, grin deepening into a mocking one, he leaned back in his chair, attitude bordering on outright disrespect, as he swirled his long cold coffee in its mug. The beverage was a poor substitute, and without alcohol, it was outright bitter. Hardly appealing.

"My knowledge was correct," he shot back. Running a disinterested finger around the mug's brim, keeping up appearances as he tried to gauge what Coin's next move would be, his words were heavy with meaning as he added, "Shame of the wasted eulogy."

Face tightening, settling into a cold mask, Coin didn't deign to answer. She also couldn't deny that she knew exactly what he was talking about.

Dipping a finger into the drink, he tested the temperature, and made a face as he placed the finger in his mouth to clean it from the coffee before swiping it dry on his shirt. "You should've done nothing," he commented drily, his tone edged with scorn.

Stalking away, her back stiff with indignity, she placed her hands on the controls, typing out a code as she issued aloud the statement, "In five minutes, we take Snow's home."

Instincts warning him, Haymitch kicked his chair back as he moved towards the screen, abandoning his corner and coffee simultaneously as he was drawn by the implications in Coin's words and manner. As grainy as the camera quality was, it wasn't hard to pick out Katniss as the girl huddling in a doorway, disguised in Capitol clothes. Behind her, a pit yawned, filling the breadth of the street. Paralyses seemed to have crippled her, as several seconds passed without her moving.

_'Move girl_,' Haymitch thought silently, disdainfully. To stop moving was to let danger come close, and as a hunter, she should've known that.

As if she had heard his thoughts, she began moving. Turning her cloak inside out, she tucked the hood securely around her head before continuing on her course to reach Snow.

Never taking his eyes off her moving figure, static jumping across the screen every time they had to switch cameras, he quietly asked Plutarch, "How did they determine that it was her?"

"She was heard calling for Gale," Plutarch answered, his voice matching Haymitch's in volume, but there was a distinctively excited tone to it.

"What happened to him?" Haymitch asked casually, not particularly interested in what happened to the boy, but knowing that he was Katniss's hunting partner and would never willingly leave her side.

"They were separated when the pod activated, but he made it into one of the houses."

"Any sign of Peeta?" Haymitch queried, out of curiosity, knowing how high the odds were against it.

"None," Plutarch confirmed.

The minutes ticked away, the room hushed as everyone watched the screens, following the girl's progress with bated breath. Tension rose as the mansion came into sight, but Katniss passed from view as she wove through the crowd, successfully escaping the range of the camera.

"Can you bring her back into focus?" Coin asked, waiting passively for the time to run out.

"We're trying," a technician replied.

The main screen lingered, giving a limited view of the City Circle, while on the technician's screens, the view jumped around as they tried the different cameras. Finally, the main screen switched to show a pulled back view of the City Circle.

"Time?" Coin called, a thread of impatience entering her voice.

"Less than a minute left."

Once more alerted by her words, tensing as his eyes searched the screen to find what was wrong with the image, Haymitch leaned closer to the projection, willing the answer to come to him. All he needed was a clue, an indication as to what was wrong; but in the controlled chaos, it was hard to pick out one single problem. With the numbered seconds ticking away, he narrowed his gaze, focusing on the crowd, frustration curling in his belly at the stupidity of the Capitol citizens as they milled about aimlessly, punctuating the lack of time he had to figure it out, to beat the game.

It was when the hovercraft appeared with the Capitol's insignia on it, that he located the detail that had eluded him, giving him the answer, but it was too late.

As the first bombs exploded, destroying the children, the air was sucked out of the room, eliminating all sound. There wasn't enough time for the shock to pass from the room's viewers before the second bombs went off. This time, causing fire to lick across their screens before it went dark.

- oOo -

Beyond the borders of Panem

The radio transmission faded out with static, the equipment ancient compared to the developed technology surrounding it, but no less useful. In the fluorescent lights, the colors from the various monitors, all blinking as information crossed their screens, illuminated the faces of the men with their different hues. Hard faced from years of military service, their expressions long ago trained to maintain neutral composure, they gave no outward sign of reaction to the news they had just received.

"So the Capitol has fallen," the officer, highest ranked of the men in the room, murmured.

"The gamble paid off then," the man to his right added, a calculating look in his eyes.

"Good thing too," the officer replied wryly. "Snow would've demanded retribution for our refusal, which would've made the break that much harder."

Flipping a switch, everyone fell silent as he informed headquarters of the news they had received, eyes returning to their monitors, though they were focused on the conversation.

"The rebels have taken the Capitol, and Snow is their prisoner." Pausing, the officer listened to his instructions, nodding and giving a curt, "Yes sir," as communication ended. Glancing at his men, he relayed orders. "Copy everything, and then erase the memory banks. Nothing can remain; there can be no indication to show where we've gone."

"We're retreating to the Copulae then?" someone asked.

The officer had to search for a moment before he placed the voice as belonging to one of the quieter men. The said man was watching him as he waited for an answer, his screen already showing that it was in the process of burning the memory onto a disk.

"It'll only be a matter of days now, before the rebellion leaders find out about us." Smiling faintly, he added, "And as Snow's secret arsenal, it won't be long before they come to visit."

"You don't believe they'll know about the Copulae?" the man asked, glancing at his screen before returning his gaze to the officer.

"There will be no trace of it, no way for them to find out about it. All they will find is an abandoned facility, with an arsenal of outdated weapons."

- oOo -

In the Capitol, Snow's Mansion

The excessive grandeur was repellent, such a waste of resources, and completely unnecessary. Especially for the heart of the Capitol. While she understood about the necessity of combining home and work, District Thirteen being proof of that, the contrast between them could not have been vaster. It took all of Coin's willpower to not curl her lip in disgust.

Once the bombs had gone off, everything had happened in a rush. She had seen the fury in Haymitch's face, the pallor in Plutarch's, but she had ignored them both as she made arrangements to go to the Capitol herself, ready to step in as the new leader. It hadn't taken long after that for the news to reach her that the Capitol had surrendered and Snow was now prisoner.

Flanking her, their uniforms a stark militant gray, firm steps a low thunder through the emulated halls, her soldiers shared her repulsion, being loyal citizens of Thirteen, handpicked for that reason to protect her. Playing through their earpieces, came the feedback from the teams working outside, reporting on their progress, and tallying the extent of the damage made from the bombs.

Having removed hers, Coin was free from listening to it, preferring not to hear the outcome of her trap. But she had to wonder if she had ensnared her intended prey. Last she'd heard, the Mockingjay hadn't been found, the wreckage being too much to tell for certain, but that was something Coin could overlook for the time being. Even if the girl had survived, she had received her punishment for taking her squad and leading them on a hunt for Snow. And if the girl shattered from it, so much the better. A broken, uncaring Mockingjay was better than an alert, active one.

Long hours of listening to Beetee and Gale's illustrations of how prey worked had proven useful.

Sweeping past the soldiers standing guard at the President's office, Coin fixed her mind on the task at hand, no more impressed by the décor of this room than any other. Signaling for her soldiers to begin, they silently obeyed, breaking through Snow's final defenses and swiftly going through the computer systems. Watching intently, hardly batting an eyelash as they bypassed details on the districts, she unconsciously drew closer and closer to the screens as they began to open Panem's secrets, fingers digging into the back of the chair that she clutched as she furiously read the words.

Breathing sharply, hand aching from the tension, her mind slammed closed to the information before her. "Freeze the files," she commanded. "Encrypt them, and pass lock them. No one is to read this, not until we're ready."

Obedient to her every word, they reburied the information, and sealed it against future intrusion, little realizing the threat that they had made themselves vulnerable to.

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><p>AN: Well, I hope the story isn't too confusing so far. Really, this was just set up, there's a lot of ground that I needed to cover before I could get into the real story.

Anyway, I have a lot planned for this story (though I'm still not sure how it's all going to fit in), but I can promise that we're in for a long adventure ;) And if I portrayed the characters wrong at all, please let me know so I can correct it/make sure not to repeat that mistake!

So sit tight, I would love it if you left your opinions in a review, and I'll see you guys next week! Until then!


	2. A Quiet Disturbed

A/N: Thanks for the interest shown so far! And I'll apologize in advance for any characters that might be OOC, it's not intentional.

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><p><strong>"Not a stranger. A fragile frame aged with misery. I do not want to be afraid. I'm tired of feeling so numb. And these scars wouldn't be so hidden; I feel so alone here, and cold here. Relief exists, I found it…" <strong>–"Cut" by Plumb

**_Chapter 1: A Quiet Disturbed_**

District Eight

The water ran over her hands, pure, clean, cold, the pressure exerted on it creating bubbles that tickled her skin. The best part about it was that there were no limitations to how long she could use it. But scrub as she might, Effie couldn't seem to cleanse them. Dirt still irritated her sensitive palms, the black smiles under her nails evidence of the filth that lurked there. The long sleeves that she wore constantly now, were pushed half up to the elbow, revealing the scarlet bands that encircled her wrists.

'_The meeting couldn't have gone more smoothly_,' Effie thought firmly, fixing her thoughts on the outcome of the meeting as she lathered on more soap. '_And once I give my report, Paylor will be glad to know that recovery in the districts is going well._' But it was the final thought that brought a glimmer of a smile to her face. _'Soon I'll be safe in my nice clean home, surrounded by the familiar sights of the Capitol_.'

Studying herself in the mirror, her small smile extended into the same brilliant smile that she had used as an escort, and her headache eased with the reassuring thoughts of going home. Checking on her makeup, noting where it needed the slightest amount of touching up, her motion of turning off the faucet was stalled by a throb, deep in her wrists, that made her freeze. Cold flooded from her chest to the rest of her body, eliciting a silent sob that escaped as a choke. Heart drumming as terror began to fill her; the reactions came swiftly in response to the pain. Warmth flowed down her hands, mingling with the cold water, the dark red of blood dirtier than any other form of grime she might encounter. Trembling violently, trying to recall where reality lay, her eyes were squeezed tight against the tears and against the sight that awaited her if she looked down.

Caught up in her panic, hands thrust deep under the water, though she remained unmoving, it was the door squealing open accompanied by the clack of heels that broke her from her trance.

Yanking down her sleeves, splashing water across the floor in her haste to conceal her actions, Effie breathed deeply to calm down; guiltily realizing how close she'd come to being seen. While it hadn't seemed like much time, she desperately hoped that the flashback hadn't left her standing there for several hours. It would be mortifying to find out that she'd been missed. Luckily, this had been her downtime, and any delay her trip to the restroom had caused would not affect the rest of her schedule. Grabbing a hand towel, her actions almost furtive in her desperation to act normal, the reminder stuck sharply in her conscious to take more care when in a public location.

"Oh, excuse me," the other woman said, flashing a friendly smile, and sidestepping around her. "I just needed to wash my hands."

"Of course, excuse me," Effie replied amiably, backing off to the side even more, and exiting the bathroom.

Shame and embarrassment washed over her, the encounter too close for her standards to allow. Digging through her purse, words of berate filled her mind. '_You should know better than that_,' she scolded sharply, fingers locking on the bottle of lotion. _'A civilized lady losing her decorum in a public bathroom, as if she had no manners, for shame! One would expect no better from one raised in the districts.'_

Hands trembling as she opened the lotion, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes from her overwrought emotions, Effie inhaled the soothing scent of lavender, and gratefully rubbed the cream into her skin. It had been clever of her therapist to suggest the lotion technique as a way of countering her fears, and with the added help of aromatherapy, Effie found that her gratitude knew no bounds.

Control restored once more, Effie withdrew her pocket day planner from her purse, one that had been bought specially for the trip, but still contained everything that her larger one at home held. It had proven so convenient, that she didn't even have to debate on whether or not she would use it regularly when she got home. In fact, she was considering throwing out the large one entirely.

Double-checking the schedule, it was a relief that see that nothing had been displaced. She still had an hour before the train left. Ticking off the other items, the ones that had already been accomplished, she frowned at a half legible note that she had meant to erase. The part that could still be read said: _Call Haymitch_-

"Oh bother," she muttered, hand returning to her purse in search for a pencil. "That's not supposed to be there." As a favor for a co-worker, she had agreed to call him to check on Katniss, something the new government felt was necessary, although it was ridiculous to think that Katniss would be starting a new rebellion any time soon. And it wasn't like the lazy man ever answered the phone anyway. Effie hardly needed to be told that bit of information, knowing him as she did, but it had given her an entertaining five minutes of conversation to verbally abuse Haymitch's deplorable habits.

But that had been before she'd been sent on the trip to Eight. Ironically, she went as a substitute for her employer, and someone else had been wrangled into calling Haymitch.

Content that her schedule contained all the proper information now, she tucked the day planner away and headed back to her hotel. After all, one could never double check enough to make sure that everything was packed.

...

Forty-five minutes later found Effie seated on the train ready to go home. Punctuality being a particular of hers, Effie found that she was fretting to be underway, wishing that she was already home. As much as she tried to ignore it, the episode in the bathroom had shaken her. The fact inescapable, it wound through her thoughts, making her hyper-sensitive to any reoccurring symptoms. So much so, that it almost drove her into another panic attack.

Breathing deeply to remain calm, eyes darting around to see if anyone was aware of the stress she was under, she clutched her purse with an iron hold as she frantically searched for the lotion. Unexpectedly, her day planner found its way into her grasp, and she recalled the half erased note to call Haymitch.

Stalled by that thought, she was able to forget about her fear as she considered the merits of that option. There had been times before when she'd called him, seeking reassurance from a familiar voice, though he had never answered. While she wouldn't put it past him to have cut the line, as he had in the past, or use some other method of silencing the phone, she had a feeling that the reason preventing him was answering was because he was drunk.

But he was still her oldest friend. Or, at least, the nearest equivalent.

Armed with that knowledge, Effie pushed aside those reminders, and stepped off the train, reassuring the attendant that she knew the train would be leaving soon, and informing him that she just had to make a quick call.

"Ma'am, please," he implored, thinly concealing his irritation. "The train will be leaving soon."

"Thank you, I know," she replied, giving a bright smile. "I'll be right back," she added as she confidently made her way to the public phone.

Inserting the money, she clutched the phone, glancing around surreptitiously but the station was quiet in her corner. Ducking her head, pressing the phone closer, she focused on the hollow echo of the ringing on the other end. _'Pick up Haymitch_,' she urged silently, counting the seconds between the rings. _'Pick up, or so help me. I'll… I'll- Oh bother_,' she realized, the thought trailing off feebly, unable to come up with a decent threat that would affect him in any way. '_The only thing he cares about is his liquor_.'

The last ring petered out unanswered, triggering a wave of disappointment to wash over her, though she was quick to dispel it.

_'I hope he runs out_,' she thought peevishly, returning the phone to its cradle, and letting herself out of the booth. _'It'd be no more than he deserves_.'

Mustering up a smile for the attendant, the one who had previously tried to stop her, Effie returned to her seat. Firmly establishing a friendly outward appearance, she pushed thoughts of Haymitch aside. In retrospect, she didn't know why she had attempted calling him. Maybe to confirm that he was still alive in Twelve. Or maybe out of a sense of loyalty. They'd worked together for many years, it was understandable that she would enquire to his health, as six months wasn't nearly long enough to permanently severe the dysfunctional tie between them. While there was something distinctly maladaptive to their relationship, Effie liked to think that it was still a friendship of sorts.

But it wasn't as if she had expected him to answer anyway.

Inside, she knew reason behind her call, the truth that subconsciously drove her to try contacting him again and again. The rebellion had destroyed her lifestyle, left her with nothing but fragments and delusions. Her only comfort had been Haymitch. Once she'd recovered enough to leave the hospital and be allowed to act as a normal citizen of Thirteen (or at least, as much of one that she could), Haymitch had come and explained it to her. Arms crossed, eyes locked on the floor, and clearly disliking his sobriety, he had given her only the bare facts, but it was enough to ensure that she could act the role he had given her. The role of being his go-between, of passing messages along to fellow rebels, the job she supposedly did during the games. But he knew more about her than anyone, held her secrets in his hand, and hid them along with the many other secrets he kept.

In a way, it scared her knowing that he knew her past and the struggle she would face in this new life. But that was what made her seek his voice for comfort, to go back to the days of when they'd been mentor and escort, and he had dismissed her fears with an irritatingly practical answer. Whether it be about if a tribute would survive or not, or what to do in a wardrobe crisis, he had been unfailingly reliable, if snarky, regardless of everything else that was deplorable about him.

Shaking her head, amused at how she had allowed herself to stray into such reminisces; she firmly shut her memories of Haymitch away, banishing them to their corner in the darkest part of her mind.

Besides, she had moved on with her life. She didn't need to continue looking after that drunk, he wasn't her responsibility anymore. While he had played a part in her life, that point was past. In fact, she even had a boyfriend waiting for her at home. And they had a date planned for when she got back…

- oOo -

District Two

Swiftly scanning the dark room, pulse kicking up with the possibility of hidden danger, Gale's senses were tuned for the whisper of sound. A misplaced footstep, a swift inhale of breath, the whisper of fabric against the wall; the sounds that would rise from under the fading calls of his comrades as they moved farther into the building. The sounds that would signal danger.

In the six months since the rebels had established themselves in the Capitol, progress had been made throughout the districts. For most of them, the last traces of Snow's reign had already been removed. Twelve, having been the luckiest in a way, had had no need for such measures, only rebuilding. But as District Two had been the Capitol's favorites, it was the hardest. Various training centers, for newly recruited Peacekeepers, were spread throughout the district. During the war they had proved troublesome, but now they were merely a chore. Though the Peacekeepers were no longer there, it was still necessary to go through each one before clearing it for demolition.

Flicking on the lights, dust swirled through the air as Gale passed a cursory gaze around it. Folders sprawled across the table where they'd been abandoned, a row of filing cabinets stood silently along the wall, but it was the rough map on the wall above them that drew Gale's attention. From the objects in there, it was clear to him that he was in the officer's quarters, but this was the first time that he had ever seen a map of Panem.

Staring at it with hungry eyes, trying to take it all in, though he didn't know how to read it, he tried to place where the various districts would be. While in District Thirteen, he had seen plenty of military holos with narrow range maps, but that didn't prepare him for this one. For one, this was paper tacked on the wall. And two, it was geographical. One of the limitations during Snow's rule was the curriculum at school, and that in itself was very limited. The most they had learned about geography was the basic idea of what terrain type was in each District. And things in Thirteen hadn't been much different. But even so, it was hard to ignore the two points that had been singled out in red ink. The first location rested far to the lower edge of the paper, the second was a hand's breadth to the right from the center.

Static crackled through his communicator before carrying his words. "Sir, I've found something of interest," Gale stated.

"What is the nature of it, Soldier Hawthorne?"

Glancing at the map again, a smirk crossed Gale's face, knowing exactly what he would tell them. "Information."

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><p>AN: Honestly, I'm not certain if Effie came off well, it was difficult to balance her personality. There's a good explanation for her behavior though. If it's not obvious, I'm following the story line of Effie being captured and tortured by the Capitol. Basically, everything in this story has a reason, but it will take a little while before explanations appear.

The song for this chapter ("Cut" by Plumb), is Effie's theme song for the story, just to give you a slight idea of how her role will play out… No spoilers lol;)

I'd love to hear feedback! I'm especially excited about the next chapter; I might even post it early if I get the chance, but I hope you weren't bored by this chapter. There's just a lot of foreshadowing going on. (I swear this story is full of the stuff.)

Next chapter will be up next week, if not earlier! Until then.


	3. The Grand old Duke of York

A/N: As promised, here's this chapter early! And as always, thanks so much for the continued interest! It makes my day hearing from you guys!:D

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><p><strong> "Cause you're trapped in the countdown and your days are numbered. Don't you know that you're done for? Right now, lights out let your panic out. You can feel it, but you're ignoring. It creeps upon you, without a warning. You think you're thriving, but you're decaying. You're going to lose it all, there's no escaping."<strong> –"Release the Panic" by Red

**_Chapter 2: The Grand old Duke of York_**

District Two

After Gale informed his commanders of his discovery, two things happened. The first was that a message was immediately sent to the Capitol, straight to President Paylor's desk. And the second was that the abandoned training center was scoured from top to bottom for any other pieces of information that might have been missed. All the filing cabinets, of which there were several in every room on the ground floor, were searched through. Walls were tapped for possible hidden recesses, and scanners were passed over every floor, wall, and ceiling. But the map remained the only important find.

Following on the thorough search, camera crews were brought in, and a connection hooked up to send the footage directly to the Capitol.

Standing off to the side, Gale watched the proceedings passively, but keeping the map in sight at all times. Having done his job, it was the best option available for the time being, and since he had become separated from his team, he just had to wait until someone found him and gave him his next set of orders. Watching the group crowding around the map out of the corner of his eye, wondering what they were discussing, a small form suddenly stepped up to him.

"If you could hold still, please," a petite woman requested as she swiftly passed a makeup brush over Gale's face.

"Wha-? What are you doing?" Gale spluttered, pulling back with a scowl.

"Mr. Hawthorne, please, hold still," she scolded. "You'll be appearing on screen, and we need to make you as presentable as possible."

Giving in, he let her finish powdering his face, stilling the urge that itched at him to move, as he watched the set up progress. Unlike the one other camera crew he had encountered, these didn't have an easy time of it. Nests of wires sprawled across the floor, snaking along the wall, and back outside. For every handful of wires, was a machine that they plugged into, but he couldn't begin to guess as to why they were all necessary.

In comparison, the compact cameras, which had been carried around to follow Katniss, were sleek and practical. Then again, it might've been easier for this set up; they weren't chasing Katniss around as she tried to hunt President Snow down.

"Now," she informed him, straightening his clothes. "You don't have to say anything, just stand there really, but if asked, you will point out the map, highlight the two spots, and tell how you found it. Simple as that."

"But," Gale started to protest, but she shushed him.

"You'll be fine," she reassured, moving him into position.

Crowding around the table, pushing up against the filing cabinets, one would hardly expect there to be enough air left in the officers' quarters for one to breath. But it was miraculous what they had managed to squeeze in, especially since they'd somehow succeeded in fitting all the cameras in. But even more astounding was how they had left the space before the map open, with more than enough room for the four people who stood there. To Gale's right, two of his superiors conversed quietly as they waited. The third person, who stood apart watching the ongoing activities, he recognized as a former Peacekeeper who had acted as a spy for the rebels.

Noticing Gale, his commander curtailed his conversation with his companion, and turned to face him. "Soldier Hawthorne," he acknowledged, "exemplary work."

"Thank you, sir," Gale replied courteously.

"You should be proud of the service you've rendered for your country," he continued stiffly. "The Capitol has much to be grateful to you for."

"Sir," Gale reiterated.

"Silence!" a voice instructed, cameras whirring as they focused. "Live feed to the Capitol will begin in five…"

- oOo -

The Capitol

"Madam President, we're glad you could spare the time for a visit," Major Draves greeted, offering his hand. "As this is of the utmost importance, you won't want to miss it."

"As am I, to be sure," Paylor replied calmly, shaking his hand, and taking in the roomful of technicians and other assorted personages who were critical faces in running the government. She was surprised that so many people had been called to participate, but if it was as important as it had been made out to be, then it rightly garnered the attention given to it.

Leading the way into the room, Major Draves gestured to the row of computer terminals and their occupants, an amused smile quirking at his lips. "Of course, this meeting wouldn't be anything without those computer geeks. They've really managed to bring this all together."

Smiling faintly, she acknowledged his words, but didn't add her opinion. She wasn't here to discuss the technology experts working for her, she was here for one thing and she preferred that they stuck to the business at hand.

"Is the link ready?" Draves asked the head technician.

"It'll take just a moment more."

"Ah, President Paylor," a man said, coming up to them, and she recognized him as one of her council members. "Isn't it exciting? Proof that there is something beyond the borders of Panem!"

"Indeed, it is," she replied. '_It just might answer a few questions_,' she thought to herself, as they took their places, out of the way of the computer specialists.

Conversation flew back and forth between the technicians as they raced to complete the link, adding details, comparing information, and making sure that it was all accurate. Like the calm at the eye of the storm, the flurry of activity didn't breach the space where the spectators, including Paylor and Major Draves, stood. Testing the feed, a vague image flickered to life on the screen before them, becoming dim, then sharp, as they fiddled with the controls until it became fixed.

"And here we go," the head technician murmured, satisfied.

Four men appeared on the screen, their surroundings non-descript and expressions expectant. Someone behind the camera must've given a signal, because the second man from the right suddenly stepped forward, his manner hesitant as he cleared his throat to ask, "Can you hear me?

Nodding the affirmative, Paylor commanded, "Proceed."

Launching into his explanation, hesitation instantly disappearing, he gave a brief summary of their work with removing the Peacekeeper training centers. He had a stiff manner of speaking, as if his thoughts were too grand for his mouth, which made it hard to them to follow what he was saying. "As you know, thorough work has been made to eradicate the reminders from President Snow's tyranny, and these past months our progress has been exceptional." Gesturing for one of his companions to step forward (whom Paylor recognized as Gale Hawthorne), he continued, "And our careful examination of each site has proven worthwhile."

His face unreadable, though it was obvious that he would've preferred to be somewhere else, Gale said stiffly, his voice low, "This is where I found the map, just as it is now."

At the moment that the image started to shift its focus, several things happened.

The screen froze where it was, caught at the second when the camera had zoomed in on the map. Gale's voice was cut off as a new sound came over the speakers, chanting monotonously, sending a chill down everyone's spine.

_"The Grand old Duke of York,"_

The voice intoned.

_"He had ten thousand men._

_He marched them up to the top of the hill,_

_Then he march them down again._

_And when they were up, they were up._

_And when they were down, they were down._

_And when they were only half way up, they were neither up nor down."_

It echoed around the room, haunting, foreboding, neither changing in quality, nor allowing any interference from Paylor's technicians.

"Cut it off!" Paylor said sharply, eyes locked on the racing lines of computer code, a keen hope filling her breast, desperate with the need to be fulfilled. A hope for the override to be initiated.

_"The Grand old Duke of York…"_

"It's a foreign cyber lock, from an unknown source," the head technician explained nervously, sweat beading his brow, fingers dancing across the keyboard as he tried to keep up with the flood of information.

_"He had ten thousand men…"_

"How did it get in?" Paylor demanded. She turned slowly to meet everyone's eyes, noting the identical looks on their faces, especially the soldiers who knew nothing about the intricacies of computers, and tried to silently urge them to remain calm by maintaining her cool. But they were clearly spooked.

_"He marched them up to the top of the hill…"_

The technician licked his lips anxiously, typing in a hesitant code before sitting back and saying hollowly, "It appears that it has been in the system…"

_"Then he marched them down again…"_

Shrugging helplessly, the technician gave Paylor a shadowed look, the act alone telling her how dire the situation really was.

_"And when they were up, they were up…"_

"Is it at all possible to restore connection?" she asked hopefully.

_"And when they were down, they were down…"_

"We're giving it our best," the technician replied warily.

_"And when they were only half way up…"_

Thinking furiously, Paylor grasped for smallest means of restoring control. "Can you mute the sound?"

_"…Were neither up nor down."_

A series of clicks followed that suggestion, but the result was negative.

"It's in the heart of the system," a shocked voice murmured.

Unchallenged, the rhyme repeated itself a third time, fixed as a menacing drone in the ears of those who heard it and becoming imprinted in their minds. But as it reached the last verse, it added a new threat.

_"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down."_

Unabsolved silence followed this new development, but the voice didn't come back. Having said its piece, it faded away, leaving them staring around the room, waiting for what they were sure was the end of the world. But nothing as dramatic as that happened.

With a crack of static, which could've been equal to a gunshot from the way everyone jumped, newsfeed resumed. The screen blinked, slowly processing to display the current image. It settled on a similar scene, but Gale was no longer on the screen, and instead it showed a collection of men working in close proximity with the lens, apparently trying to solve why the connection had failed.

"…Respond if you can hear me," a distant voice implored. "From District Two to the Capitol, respond if this message is getting through."

Staring at the screen, not really seeing it, Paylor flinched as a hand took her elbow and gently started guiding her away.

"President Paylor," Major Draves said earnestly. "I believe it would be best for now if you left the room."

"No," Paylor said sharply, pulling away. "No, send for Beetee immediately; inform him that there's been an intellectual attack. Once he arrives, we'll put him to the task of uncovering the source. And also set someone to the task of contacting Haymitch Abernathy."

Someone started to voice an opposing opinion, but she held up a hand, foregoing discussion.

"Do as I said," she stated through gritted teeth. "And have someone take notes. I have a list of names that need to be contacted. It's imperative that they are all reached." Lifting her gaze to meet everyone's steadfastly, a flinty anger sparking in her eyes, she gave a grim smile. "Ladies and gentlemen," she announced softly. "I declare this to be an attack on our government, and our first move will be to summon the leaders and heads from the Rebellion to decide how best to answer this threat."

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><p>AN: The nursery rhymes are the traditional English songs "The Grand old Duke of York" and "Ring-Around-the-Rosy".

For understandable reasons, Haymitch and Effie were not able to appear in this chapter, but I can promise they'll be in the next. On that note, I probably won't be able to put the next chapter up until late next week (on the Friday or Saturday) as I won't be at home.

And for those who care to listen to music, the "Release the Panic" album by Red is the song track that helped inspire this story. Eventually, I will put each song with a chapter.

Thanks again so, so much for reading! Hopefully you liked it, I'd love to hear your opinions, and I'll see you guys next week! Until then.


	4. Opening Moves

A/N: Note, I put two songs here. The first song is the one that fits the chapter, and the second one applies to Effie.

* * *

><p>\\/\\

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><p><strong> "The thinning line between, you and my sanity. Just takes a breeze to cause a storm. It takes me to cause a tragedy. Until the end of me, I swear, you'll be the death of me. I dare you cross the line again, because deep down inside, there's something that waits to be broken."<strong> –"Broken Inside" by Broken Iris

**"But the only anesthetic that makes me feel anything kills inside. I do not want to die inside just to breathe in**." –"Cut" by Plumb

**_Chapter 3: Opening Moves_**

The Capitol

Checking her appearance for the thousandth time, patting a curl or two back into place, dabbing on some more lipstick, fussing over whether another pair of earrings would match her dress better, Effie ran restless hands down the silk fabric, smoothing away non-existent wrinkles, as she turned away from the mirror. Fingers lightly handled the bottles of perfume and lipstick that populated her vanity table, habitually lining them up according to color, as she checked her bedroom to make sure everything was in place.

Earlier today, she had dropped off her report from Eight. The train had pulled into the station late last night, giving her only a few hours for sleep, but she hadn't been able to rest when there were things she needed to take care of. While giving Paylor her report hadn't been required, as she had been given a few days off from work to recuperate from traveling, she felt better having it out of the way. Afterwards, she'd been able to arrange an impromptu appointment with her therapist, just a checkup really, but it had left her feeling confident again. The last of her errands had occupied only a fragment of her time, giving her ample time to unpack the items from her trip before getting ready for her date.

Finding a letter on her nightstand, she made a mental note to write back, folding it neatly before returning it to its spot. Eyes straying to the clock, the butterflies in her stomach swirled with increased speed as a thrill of excitement raced through her. Fifteen minutes till her date arrived. Enough time to accomplish something, yet too close to do any of the things that needed to be taken care of.

Smiling ruefully at the silver heels she'd selected to wear, Effie commented to her feet, "Since there's still a bit of a wait, I'll hold off on making you wear shoes. And I can go over my schedule until he comes!"

Carrying the heels into the living room, humming quietly as she listed some activities that would be fun to do with her friends, she padded barefoot into the kitchen. Spotting the glass of water that she'd left out, still three quarters full, she could almost hear Haymitch chiding her on being wasteful as she went to dump it. He had often remarked on all the things that were squandered in the Capitol, it'd been a topic that had come up every visit, and at one time they'd had a heated argument about it. Ever since the end of the war, and coming to realize how wrong she'd been about a lot of things, she had taken care to be more conscientious.

'_It probably hasn't been out for that long'_, she reasoned, checking it for dust particles, and taking a cautious sip. Other than being lukewarm, it wasn't as if a bug had ruined it by dying in it.

Adding a couple of ice cubes, she carried it to the living room and perched gingerly on the edge of the couch, wary of wrinkling her attire while subconsciously laying the skirt of the dress primly around her. Drinking her water slowly, giving time for the cold from the ice to seep in, she scanned her day planner, noting the available days, marking a few that stood out to her to consider later, while trying not to glance at the clock too often.

It wouldn't be too much longer now. Three minutes had already passed, but it felt like the seconds were lingering, deliberately staying a moment more than their time allowed. So many things had been planned for this evening. Naturally they would start with dinner, followed by stroll down the street to a small café where they would have dessert. After that, he had promised something special, but refused to tell her what it was, as it was a surprise. Her daydreams had run wild with imaginings of what he could possibly have planned; a moonlit walk through the park, maybe going to see a concert… She could list a dozen things, but every time she asked him, he only smiled and shook his head. Promising, "You'll see…"

The rattle of ice and the sudden chill on her lips as she tried to drink from the empty glass startled Effie from her reverie. She had been so caught up in fantasizing how the date would go, that she hadn't even noticed that the water was gone, or that she'd dropped her pencil. Those observations prompted her memory, reminding her that she'd left her purse in the bedroom, and that she should retrieve it before he arrived that way there wouldn't be any delay.

Standing up swiftly, swaying slightly as dizziness washed over her, she realized that it would probably be best if she put the glass away too. A thought tugged at the back of her mind, urging her to look closer at the glass, to remember when she had taken it out. But other than finding it on the counter, she couldn't recall when she'd taken it out or filled it with water.

Throat feeling dry, she shook her head to banish her out of control thoughts. Her boyfriend would be here in a few minutes, and the last thing she needed was to leave the glass sitting out, which would reflect poorly on her. Heading back to pick it up, she barely managed a few steps before an intense pain erupted between her temples. Muscles going limp at the same time, she fell, unconscious before her head hit the floor.

- oOo -

District Twelve

The ringing was ceaseless.

Entering his drunken stupor, it echoed like sirens, shrill, piercing, and never relenting, giving tune to the vague terrors that swam beyond the barrier of oblivion. Changing in tone, making his head throb, it disturbed his demons, awaking them, bringing them descending upon his mind, bearing faces of the past. No longer did people simply die in his dreams. No, the children he'd mentored exploded. Then came the others, people he'd helped save, rushing to the children's aid, where they too exploded. It was the vision that had plagued him ever since he'd left District Thirteen.

Unconsciously gripping his knife tighter, his nightmare paled as a new one replaced it, his hand clutching at the empty air. There were enemies around, his instincts warned him, they had taken advantage of his inebriated state and taken his weapon. Tense, waiting for the attack, consciousness was still beyond his grasp when a voice pierced his stupor.

"Haymitch, you need to clean up in here, I just saw a rat."

While it was a special horror of its own to hear Effie's voice, it was a relief compared to the nightmares. Reality settling into place around him, the ringing in his ears eased, becoming the sound of someone rummaging through his cupboards, and his mind groggily realized that he'd made a mistake with the voice. It wasn't Effie, here to annoy him beyond reason (though the statement had sounded remarkably similar to something she might've said), it was Peeta. But he hadn't been wrong about the sense of his knife being gone.

"There's a loaf of bread next to you," Peeta said, noticing Haymitch's movements. "But I can't find anything else in here to eat."

Unable to answer, his body's demands taking precedence over food, he barely made it to the hall when the whiskey from the night before made its exit. Stomach heaving, body propped up against the wall, he managed to avoid falling in it. Distantly, he tried to form coherent words, but Peeta had already stepped in.

Pushing Haymitch in the right direction, Peeta instructed, "Go ahead and change, I'll clean this up."

Stumbling to comply, Haymitch had regained command over his faculties by the time he returned. Squinting blearily at the boy, it was reassuring to see the characteristic steadiness, and not the victim of hijacking. Deep in his conscience, Haymitch knew that he should've been doing more, that it was wrong to leave the kids alone while they were both still trying to pull their lives back together, but living in a timeless limbo where he faced his demons hourly, he couldn't bring himself to care. Although it didn't escape him that Peeta wouldn't take time out from helping Katniss with the book unless there was something important.

Collapsing in a chair, head sinking onto his hand as he half slumped over the table, his words were only somewhat slurred as he asked, "Where's my knife?"

"I took it," Peeta stated, leaving the dirty rag in the sink to soak, presenting a plate of fresh, evenly sliced bread. "And we both know you can't survive on whiskey alone," he continued, blue eyes steady as he met Haymitch's scowl.

"Greasy Sae usually comes by," Haymitch muttered, dropping his gaze to search for an unfinished bottle among the empty ones littered across the floor. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was, the interior of his house being in a constant gloom regardless of anything else, but he had a feeling that Greasy Sae normally would've come to visit by now, and he doubted that she ever came in the afternoon. Awaking to find that his food had long ago turned cold was standard.

"And I thought I told you to never take my knife?" he reprimanded sourly, without energy.

"You can have it," Peeta replied amiably, passing over not only the knife but an untouched bottle. Watching patiently, amused by how Haymitch's face lit up, Peeta allowed him to take a couple swallows before bringing up the reason for his visit. "Plutarch called Katniss."

"Let me guess," Haymitch said wryly, tipping his chair on its back legs, satisfied now that his demands had been met. "You answered her phone."

Peeta shrugged, grinning slightly. "At least you're doing your job," he returned, teasing. Really, it was a valid point to question whether or not Haymitch did his job.

Snorting, Haymitch downed another mouthful. "No, I'm not. Katniss never answers the phone," he said by way of explanation.

Shaking his head slightly at Haymitch's irascible personality, Peeta continued mildly, "Well, Plutarch told me that he's been trying to reach you, and that I'm to stay here until you call him back."

"Pompous fool," Haymitch grumbled with a sigh, getting to his feet. Giving Peeta a look, he added, "Promise that once I get this over with you'll leave?"

Peeta grinned in reply. "Better hurry and make that call."

Never being one for communication, it was tedious business waiting to be put through to Plutarch. While running a government was clearly a time consuming business, he had to wonder if anyone had ever taken time to listen to the 'on hold' music. Whoever wrote it should've been shot.

Covering the mouthpiece, he muttered to Peeta, "Want a turn listening?"

"Nah uh," Peeta replied, folding his arms and keeping his expression stoical.

Trying to entice him, Haymitch added persuasively, "You might find the Capitol music tastes to your liking."

Shaking his head, a small grin appeared as Peeta answered, "Unless it's better than Katniss's singing, I'm not interested."

Giving up the cause, knowing he would never convince Peeta of anything sounding better than the girl, he held the phone slackly, tempting gravity to pull it from his hand. But he wasn't so lucky. Before long, the voice of Plutarch's personal secretary came through, asking for the purpose of his call.

"I'm returning Plutarch's call," he informed shortly, rethinking his choice and wondering if it would've been better to see if Peeta was willing to wait around all day for him to make the call.

"And who may I ask is calling?" she asked brightly.

"Haymitch Abernathy," he replied.

It took a full fifteen seconds for Plutarch's overly cheerful voice to greet him. "Haymitch! I was afraid that you were going to hold out on me for another day." Chuckling, he added, "That, or I would have to send someone down to fetch you. Please be sure to pass my thanks along to Peeta."

"I'll be sure to," Haymitch said wryly. "Now was there something you actually had to say, or were your fellow politicians too boring?"

"I did tell you to not be a stranger," Plutarch reminded jovially, chuckling at the implication that he actually had some degree of influence in politics.

"That was Katniss," Haymitch corrected, rolling his eyes at the man's flimsy memory.

"I meant it for both of you," Plutarch amended. "Well, I guess it's straight to business with you, though, since you hate small talk so much. And no, I'm not 'bored' as you put it. My job has been quite entertaining, and I couldn't be happier with how the use of television has spread among the Districts."

"Great to hear it," Haymitch replied wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose, already sick of listening to the ex-Head Gamemaker.

"In truth," Plutarch continued seriously. "I called to ask if you could come up to the Capitol, for tactical purposes. Something of interest popped up, and with your expertise from the war, well, it just makes sense to bring you in on the loop."

"I'm flattered," Haymitch said sarcastically. "And no, I won't go."

"I haven't even told you what's going on," Plutarch pointed out. "And Paylor requested you specifically."

"And I quit helping the government," Haymitch reminded.

"Would you rather we sent someone to escort you?" Plutarch wheedled.

"I wouldn't go even if you sent Effie Trinket," Haymitch stated flatly, seriously contemplating hanging up.

"Oh no, she's busy elsewhere," Plutarch informed cheerfully. Turning on the dramatics, voice dripping with disappointment, he sighed heavily. "Well, if you're certain... But I thought you'd be interested to know that Gale found a map that indicated a weapons base outside of Panem."

The information caused Haymitch to pause. "Say that again?"

Thrilled that he had Haymitch's attention again, Plutarch proceeded to fill him in on all the details. Everything from changes in Capitol fashion, to rebuilding in District Ten, was mentioned, and it was only with several prompts and corrections from Haymitch that spared the conversation from taking any longer than it already had.

"We can't really be sure yet," Plutarch concluded. "No one actually knows where Snow's arsenal of weapons is, but Paylor, along with everyone else from Thirteen, are certain that this must be it."

"And you got this from an old training facility in Two?" Haymitch demanded with a harsh laugh.

"We've little reason to doubt it," Plutarch said defensively, his tone miffed at Haymitch's outright disbelief. "And Gale Hawthorne is reliable, he's rarely wrong in circumstances like these."

'_Just what Coin thought when she applied those ideas to helpless children,_' Haymitch thought silently; almost mad enough to say it aloud. Instead, he asked pragmatically, "And what do you want me to do once I get there? Can't one of the idiots up there solve your problem easily enough?"

Of all the answers Plutarch could've given, the last one Haymitch expected was for him to burst out laughing. Taming his mirth, after a span of several seconds, Plutarch's voice was calm, but resigned, when he answered. "Because we both know those _idiots_, as you so aptly titled them, would do a hell of a lot worse than you."

Scowling at the wall, many suitable obscenities coming to mind, Haymitch regretted the words that had trapped him. He had never considered that Plutarch would concede to the fact, let alone admit it out loud, and so paint him in a corner. Having the reputation that he did, he could still say no and not think twice about it. But it was the recognition that made it impossible.

And knowing Plutarch as he did, Haymitch didn't put it past the Gamemaker to have said those words for that exact reason.

"Damn it, Plutarch," Haymitch grumbled. "I refuse to dance along to the demands of the Capitol."

"And I'm not asking you to," Plutarch reassured, secure in the knowledge that Haymitch had been swayed. "We're only asking for tactical advice, anything after that is up to the generosity of your goodwill.

"Of which there's none," Haymitch retorted. "What's the layout of the situation?" he inquired.

"Nothing special," Plutarch replied unconvincingly, immediately rousing Haymitch's suspicions. "Just a minor mission, seeing if this really is Snow's hidden arsenal, and making sure that it's dealt with properly."

Adjusting the phone, glancing over his shoulder, he noted that Peeta was still there. Seated at the table, reclining in his chair as he ate a slice of bread, the boy was listening in curiously, though there was little that he could make sense of. Having fulfilled Plutarch's request, he was welcome to get up and walk out the door any time he felt like it, but Haymitch didn't blame him for staying. It was impossible to deny that something was afoot, and if he'd of been in Peeta's position, he would've stayed to listen too.

Out of practice, he automatically steered the conversation into inconsequential areas, turning to subtler methods of gathering details. This didn't involve the kid; he had never allowed Peeta and Katniss to be put at risk, and he never would. Whatever Plutarch was hiding, he could openly confront him about it later, sometime when he didn't have to shield his words from anyone.

"Who will be there?" he asked casually, a harmless question, but one that could divulge a lot of information.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Plutarch answered honestly with a shrug.

"Come on," Haymitch coaxed. "You're head of communication, the first to hear anything, how could you not know?"

"It's exactly this, as plain as you could wish: I may be in charge of communications, but I'm not privy to Paylor's private council," Plutarch stated adamantly, his temper up. "My only task in this was to contact you."

"And you have no idea about who else has been called?" Haymitch asked drily, unfazed by the outburst.

"Well…" Plutarch conceded furtively, dropping all pretense of indignity, unable to resist sharing, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I heard that everyone of importance is being brought in. Everyone who was of importance to the rebellion," he corrected.

Mulling over it, hindered from drawing any real conclusions by the disappointing lack of information, Haymitch wondered how much Plutarch really knew. He made it sound as if he had been left out, yet he had hinted at something bigger going on.

"When do I need to be there?" he asked reluctantly.

"The earliest train from Twelve leaves in three days."

"Great, now how about when the last one leaves?" Haymitch answered sarcastically.

Plutarch chuckled but continued talking as if he hadn't been interrupted. "It'll take about a week before the rest arrive, but you'll be filled in once you arrive, allowed to study the map if you wish, and can pass the time in any other manner that appeals to you."

"I wouldn't have expected anything less." Haymitch stated drily, although he hardly needed the permission.

"So I can expect to see you in four days?" Plutarch confirmed.

Snorting derisively, Haymitch shook his head and answered bluntly, "If I'm not drunk enough to forget."

"Oh don't worry," Plutarch reassured. "I'll send someone to collect you, and the conductor will have instructions not to leave without you."

"To be sure," Haymitch drawled sardonically, somewhat ticked off by the precautions Plutarch had installed to make sure he kept his word.

"And, as I'm sure you know," Plutarch finished. "This conversation is strictly confidential."

"Of course it is," Haymitch answered, rolling his eyes. With the amount of mystery surrounding this event, he would've considered them stupid not to.

Voice dropping a few octaves, becoming serious, Plutarch added lowly, "And between you and me, we've had some, ah, interesting things afoot up here since the map was found."

"Such as?" Haymitch inquired, dropping his voice in turn, pulse quickening subtly at the possibility of receiving an idea as to what had happened up there.

"Unfortunately, I can't say," Plutarch answered, sounding distinctly guilty. "But I'll fill you in once you arrive."

"So glad to hear it," he answered irritably, though the attitude was only an act now. Grabbing a bottle, Haymitch drowned the bitter taste left over from the conversation, ignoring the final words of parting and formalities. Hanging up the phone, he met Peeta's amused expression with a scowl.

"Did you have a good conversation?" Peeta inquired casually.

"He wants me to go to the Capitol, so I'm sending you in my place," he deadpanned.

Shaking his head, Peeta grinned and answered, "Sorry, I promised Katniss I'd help her with something."

"It was worth a shot," Haymitch muttered. Heading for his room, having determined that it'd be easiest to drink himself into oblivion; Haymitch tossed over his shoulder, "And let me know when the train comes. Apparently, I'm supposed to be on it."

Faintly, Peeta's voice came to him as he started going upstairs. "And don't forget to take care of those rats." The door thudded shut

"As if I could forget," Haymitch muttered, vaguely recalling a distorted memory of hearing something about that.

Entering his room and going to the window, Haymitch leaned against the wall, far enough to the side that he wouldn't be seen, drinking the liquor slowly. Peeta would see to it that he made it to the Capitol, and if the kids didn't begin to ask questions, he would consider that an unusually wise move on their part.

Putting the drink down, he turned away from the window, eyes searching the room. With the conversation fresh in his mind, the things Plutarch had said nagged at him. Or more accurately, the things he hadn't said. There were inconsistencies that pricked unrelentingly, driving him into action, and reminding him that there were other methods of finding out information.

And he knew exactly who to contact. If only he could find Effie's number.


	5. Quickly Now

** "Won't you come out; we can paint the town red. Kill a little time; you can sleep when you're dead. Cause it isn't over yet. Get it out of your head."** –"Where the Lonely Ones Roam" by Digital Daggers

**_Chapter 4: Quickly Now..._**

District Twelve

Deciding to begin his search with under the bed and in the closet, Haymitch disturbed the collection of empty bottles and clutter for the first time in what he was positive must've been years. Effie had often complained about the state of the mess, and had occasionally made an attempt at forcing him to clean it up, but it had always ended up looking the same. And without her annual visit, he had forgotten to notice it.

Glass clinked, the bottles skittering into one another as he shoved them aside with his foot, dragging the closet door open to check for newspapers. Not finding any, he knelt to peer under the bed, with the same result.

Some months ago, Peeta had brought a newspaper to his house, pointing out an article that had talked about the notable people from the rebellion. Most of it had been rubbish, just telling how everyone had settled into the new lifestyle and what they were currently up to, and Haymitch had wanted to throw it away. Disgusted by the nature of it, he had almost missed the section hidden at the bottom that Peeta had tactfully circled; the section that talked about Effie. While she hadn't actually been involved with the rebellion, thanks to his claim that she had been, everyone believed that she had.

Mercifully, in his opinion, the information on her had been brief, indiscriminating, and belied nothing of the truth. But if it hadn't been for the number scribbled beside the column, he wouldn't have bothered keeping it.

Heading downstairs, he rummaged through the corners; uncovering piles of newspapers that he hadn't even known had been in his possession. Never being one to notice social media, he had to wonder how he had accumulated so many. Skimming through them, checking the publication date, he tossed aside the ones he didn't need, letting them return to lurking in their corners. Yellowed edges and musty smell gave testament to their age. Glimpses of headlines, the occasional garish picture, and he realized that Effie must've left most of them, at some point or another, from her visits.

Giving a frustrated growl when none of them proved to be it, he flung them away, the papers scattering across the room. Exchanging the search for an easier task, he looked to find where he'd placed his bottle, and abruptly realized that he'd left it upstairs. Too lazy to go back for it, he went to his stash and opened a new one.

With a laugh, he suddenly recalled where the paper was. Brilliantly, or drunkenly, he had placed it in the one location where he would see it frequently, a fact that Effie would hate with a vengeance if she ever knew. Carefully shifting the paper out from under the whiskey, his eyes immediately fixed on the small article, tilting the page to scan the numbers.

A rustling came from behind, displaced in the quiet, and not welcome as he had believed he was alone in his house. Reflexes taking over, his hand dropped to the hilt of his knife, body dropping into a crouch as he whirled around, ready to defend himself. In the back of his mind, he aware that it could be Katniss, the girl could move bloody quietly when she wanted to, and she tended to come in without any prior announcement.

Gaze passing swiftly over the room, he slowly released his grip on his knife, confused when he couldn't find the source of the sound. It couldn't have been nothing. And he knew that he wasn't prone to seeing or hearing things when conscious. It was possible that the sound could've been from the papers settling, but that didn't give the right answer. And the sound had traveled. Definitely not something that paper would do on its own.

Wary of relaxing too early, he froze again when the newspapers crinkled softly, knife at the ready. A small form, muted in color, darted over the papers, and disappeared under the couch, earning a laugh from him. Shaking his head, snorting dismissively at Peeta's mistake, Haymitch tucked the knife back into his waistband, grabbing Effie's number and going to the phone. There weren't rats in his house, there were mice, and if it had been Katniss commenting on them, she probably would've identified it without even looking at it.

Making his second call that day, a record for him, he realized that this was his first time calling Effie without any prior prompting. There had been times when she'd called him, always to talk or remind him about something pointless, but he had never bothered contacting her. Dealing with her in person had been enough back then.

'_She'll probably criticize me on how rude it is to call about gossip,_' he thought with some amusement. And there was a high chance that she'd want to hear all about his travel details too.

The phone rang once, twice, three times before switching over to the answering machine.

Shrugging, hanging up before the recording of her perky voice finished talking, he left the paper by phone. Retrieving a couple of bottles, he climbed back upstairs to finish off the one he'd left up there. If he remembered later, he would try calling her again, but the odds were highly against that.

- oOo -

District Twelve (…the next morning…)

Arms tightening fractionally around the form next to him, Peeta blinked into awareness as a furred tail flicked his nose. Cautiously sitting up, having made the mistake of tangling with Buttercup in the past, he found the cat resting across the top of Katniss's pillow, an eye cracked open to look at him. Giving another flick, successfully hitting Peeta's nose again, the cat stretched out languidly as he fell asleep again. Relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with the temperamental animal, Peeta drew Katniss closer to him.

Burying his face in the crook of her shoulder, the long waves of her hair tickling his face, Peeta inhaled the subtle forest scent that clung to her, the scent that he had come to associate as belonging to her. It was the quiet moments in the morning, when the early sun played across her hair, creating a dazzle of colors, and the nightmares were done for the night, that he was able to enjoy the simple pleasure of being near her. Holding her like this, the peace of sleep smoothing her features, he realized how defenseless she truly was.

There was little he wouldn't do for her.

Kissing the tender spot, just behind the corner of her jaw, Peeta carefully untangled himself from her, trying not to wake her.

Stirring, eyes snapping open, Katniss jerked upright, whipping around to face him as she pulled away at the same time. Her gray eyes were wide with fear, reflecting whatever terrors she'd seen in her dreams, and her hand gripped the pillow, ready to use it as a makeshift weapon.

"Shh, Katniss, it's me, just me," Peeta soothed, holding a hand out in a pacifying manner, watching her warily in case she lashed out.

"Peeta?" she murmured, wavering.

"Yeah, it's me," he replied softly, carefully returning to her side, and gingerly wrapping her in his arms.

She melted against him, the tremor easing from her limbs as she relaxed, a quiet sigh escaping her. "What were you doing?" she asked in a whisper.

His answer was stalled by the phone ringing unexpectedly. Smiling apologetically, placing a small kiss on the side of her temple, he murmured, "I'll get that," and left the room. Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the phone just before the call was missed.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Peeta!" Plutarch's voice greeted. "I hope I'm not disturbing you?"

"No, it's all right," Peeta answered good-naturedly. "I was up already anyway."

"Excellent, excellent," Plutarch said happily. "Now, I know I sent you over to see Haymitch for me yesterday, but special arrangements have been made, so the train will be arriving today at ten o'clock. And if you could inform him of that change that would take a huge weight off my shoulders."

"Yeah, sure," Peeta responded.

"Fantastic! And if it isn't too much to ask, I have another favor to request of you. Once he wakes up, could you put him on the phone? I'll be calling his house."

"No problem," Peeta replied. "Just don't expect any quick answers."

"Trust me, I have plenty of experience with that," Plutarch returned wryly, before ending the call.

Sighing inwardly, Peeta glanced out the window, noting the extent of the morning, before heading back upstairs to Katniss.

She was sitting in the middle of the bed, where he'd left her, knees up to her chest, fingers gripping her toes. As if she would combust if she didn't hold herself together. Gray eyes locked on him the moment he came back in sight, the cornered look leaving her as she visibly relaxed.

"Who was it?"

"Plutarch," Peeta answered, climbing onto the bed and pulling her close.

"What did he want?" she asked, leaning into him.

After the war ended, and they'd returned to Twelve, it had taken several months for them to sort out their emotions. While it had been painfully obvious that they couldn't stand being without the other, it was hard when they still didn't trust each other. That was something that took time to regain, even after everything they had been through, and with their brokenness, it just hadn't been possible. But they had gradually found their way back, and with it, affection had returned to their relationship.

"To tell me that the train will be arriving today, so I'll need to wake Haymitch."

"Make him take a shower," Katniss instantly replied.

Smiling over the top of her head, Peeta agreed. "All right, but I'm not going to babysit him."

"I didn't ask you to," Katniss retorted, tilting her head to give him a grin.

"Okay then." Pressing a tender kiss on her lips, Peeta promised, "I'll be back shortly."

Stopping by the kitchen long enough to grab a loaf of bread (to bribe Haymitch with), he headed outside.

The morning was still crisp, filled with the fresh scents leftover from the night before, as Peeta crossed the short distance between their houses. His own house was directly across from him, still, and waiting, but he rarely spent time there these days. Busy helping Katniss with the book, and staying with her through the night, he usually only popped in long enough for a change of clothes. But his gaze didn't travel to any of the three occupied houses; instead it was fixed on the minutely changing colors of the late sunrise. The walk was too short to note the changes, Haymitch's derelict home filling his view all too soon, but he committed it to memory.

The dimness was crippling as he let himself in, the phone ringing untended, and the stench of liquor as overwhelming as ever. Walking through the living room, he was brought up short by the crackle of paper underfoot. Observing the trail of newspapers, sprawled across the floor like broken birds, it was easy to see that Haymitch had been up to something last night, though he couldn't tell what. Shaking his head, he went and checked the couch and dining room.

Keeping an eye open for any corner that might be suddenly harboring an abnormal object, Peeta had eliminated Haymitch's usual haunts from his list when the phone stopped in mid-ring. From upstairs, the faint sound of talking could be heard, gravelly and thoroughly irritated.

xXx

Face pressed into the mattress, stretched out on his stomach, and his pillow over his head to block out the sunlight, it was complicated getting the phone to join him in this position. Either it jabbed him in the ear, or he turned his head to the side and had the light stab his eyes. Regardless of the outcome though, it was much too early for this.

"What the hell, Plutarch?" Haymitch snarled, his mood savage at being awoken. If he had known who was calling, he would've let the call go. He had thought it would be Effie returning his call (completely forgetting that he hadn't left a message so there was no way she could know that he had even tried).

"A pleasant morning to you too, Haymitch," Plutarch replied drily. "Although I'm glad the boy was able to rouse you, much faster than I expected too!"

"What?" Haymitch mumbled, struggling to follow the course of the conversation. "No, wait," he said swiftly, cutting Plutarch off from going into a long explanation. "I take that back. What I want to know is what the damn reason is for calling at… at," he faltered a moment, tripping over the time, but covered his mistake smoothly. "At this hour," he corrected.

"Peeta could've told you this, if you'd stopped to listen to him," Plutarch answered amiably, not noticing Haymitch's mistake. "I'll tell you now though, since it goes along with what I had wanted to talk to you about."

"Get on with it," Haymitch muttered impolitely, rubbing a hand over his face. A quiet knock rapped the door, but he ignored it. Obviously, it'd be the boy, here to deliver Plutarch's message.

"The train will be there by ten, we managed to convince Paylor that it would be best to use the express engines to bring everyone up here as soon as possible. After the, hum, activities started, it became vital that we reach the bottom of this earlier rather than later. On that note, you'll only be arriving a day, maybe two, before the others, which means you'll be home before the end of the week," Plutarch finished proudly, clearly pleased beyond reasoning.

"Just the news I wanted to hear!" Haymitch said mordantly, his voice dripping with pretend happiness. "Now maybe next time," he added condescendingly. "You can wait until I get up there to give me the good news, instead of disturbing me."

Ending the call, he threw the phone, the wall giving a satisfying thump as the phone hit it. "If you're here to give Plutarch's message, I just heard it," Haymitch warned, his voice muffled as he reburied his head and arms under the pillow.

"What about Katniss's message?" Peeta offered. "Have you heard that one yet?"

"I don't think I want to hear it," Haymitch returned, glaring at the corner of the pillow.

He wished he hadn't let Plutarch off the hook so easily. The man could never resist hinting at secrets, the one thing Haymitch still couldn't figure out how the Gamemaker had managed to keep information of the rebellion from reaching Snow, and the fact that Paylor had agreed to rush the process of bringing everyone up to the Capitol only confirmed how bad the situation was.

It was a shame that he hadn't been able to hear the gossip from Effie.

"You probably won't like it anyway," Peeta replied with a shrug. "But she says that you need to take a shower before you leave the house."

"Tell her thanks for her opinion, but I'm the adult in this trio," Haymitch stated absently, his thoughts elsewhere.

Working over the question thoroughly in his mind, he knew that there would be no falling back asleep now. And if he got drunk, it would only take it that much longer to reach the right conclusion.

The question at hand was: Would they have announced a crisis of this kind abroad? With communication between Districts open, news of this kind would send them swarming. To what end, he was sure, depended on how it was handled. If the Districts felt that they were under attack, facing the threat of having a new tyrant, it was logically predictable that they would rally together to defend the Capitol. But if they felt that this showed a weakness in the Capitol's part then they would probably divide into factions similar to how the kids had divided for the Hunger Games. Careers and the random ally pairing, leaving every other District for itself, as they battled for dominance. If they went down that path, then Panem would be brutally destroyed.

"I already know what she would say to that," Peeta said wryly. "What did Plutarch want to talk to you about?"

"Confidential, sorry," Haymitch replied automatically. "Has there been any startling news from the Capitol?" he asked suddenly.

"I don't think so," Peeta answered slowly, his uncertainty audible in his voice. "I could check, but I'm pretty sure there have only been the usual airings. You've probably seen the shows and infomercials that Plutarch set up. Why?"

"Plutarch was blabbing," Haymitch said easily, making a face to underline his point. Getting off his stomach, he half sat up thoughtfully. The very fact that they were hiding it confirmed how bad it was. Either it was something embarrassing that couldn't be cleaned up easily, hence the swearing everyone to confidentiality. Or, it was much worse than even he had considered.

Feeling hemmed in by these thoughts, he went to the dresser, opening the top drawer where he kept a stash of alcohol. Opening one, he started to drink from it, when Peeta's voice stopped him.

"Are you sure you should have that?"

Haymitch shot him a glare. "And why not?" he demanded.

Deftly snagging the bottle from Haymitch's hand, Peeta set it aside. "You're going to the Capitol for a secret reason," Peeta pointed out sensibly, although he rolled his eyes slightly when he mentioned that it was secret. "And from the sounds of it, you're needed up there pretty badly if they're willing to race you up there. It just makes sense for you to abstain so you can think clearly."

"Withdrawal would leave me useless," Haymitch retorted. "And even if I did agree not to drink now, I'd just have one on the train."

"Then have it once I'm not around," Peeta returned. Exiting the room, he called back, "Katniss and I will be having breakfast shortly, and you're welcome to join us before leaving. Although if you do, you'll have to take a shower, Katniss won't let you in otherwise."

"I'll think about it," Haymitch answered, not committing himself.

Waiting until he heard the front door close, he picked up the bottle that Peeta had removed from him. Studying it in consideration, he didn't drink it immediately.

"Damn kid has a point," he commented to it, giving it a rueful look. "Between you and me though, this will be a onetime thing. After this, I'm not giving up my drinking for anyone." Taking a gulp, to seal the deal he had just made with the bottle, he reinstated the agreement he had made with the kids, all those many years ago when they were on the train about to enter their first Games. He would continue drinking, but remain sober enough to be of help.

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><p>AN: As always guys, thank you so much for your continued interest, and for reading! It means a lot to me!

This is basically a filler chapter, so sorry, but things will be picking up again in the next chapter. Until then!


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